Page 43 of Mafia King: Matteo
“Alena, Matteo has requested that you move into his mansion before the engagement is announced to the public,” Dad says. It’s not a suggestion. “It’s for your protection.”
The orders are starting, and now I will be exiled into the enemy’s territory.
What did I do to be subjected to such torture? I’m angry at Matteo. And at the same time, I hate myself because my body yearns for him. My body aches for him to be inside of me.
“Alena, take a drink,” Mom says as she pours two vodkas, and the men refill their glasses. We all toast, and I knock it back without a blink.
“Where do you live, Matteo?” I ask. “There are a few Italian families in the city, and I wonder where we’ll be living,” she adds a curious undertone to words meant to challenge me.
“I have a home you should find comfortable on Long Island. And, if it’s not to your liking, I can sell it and buy something different. We can also live at the penthouse on the Upper East Side.”
“How will I get to work if we live on the Island?”
“Work? You don’t need to work,” he says, dismissing my concern without any thought about how I feel about it.
“I want to work. I have a job at your hotel,” I say, stressing the word “your.” “I’d like to keep it.”
“Now, now, there is time to iron out the details later,” Dad states, ending the argument before it gains traction.
“Dinner is ready.” Mom stands. “Alena, come help me in the kitchen.” We head into the kitchen while the men move into the dining room.
Mom and I carry plates of food to the table. Dad and Matteo are having a quiet conversation and are waiting for us to join them. Mom passes food to Matteo first. He politely takes some of the dumplings before he passes them to me.
This is going to be a long night.
I need vodka.
CHAPTER 15
MATTEO
I know women. I can tell Alena is seething under her calm exterior. This is the calm before the storm. Like a dragon, Alena has fire in her belly and is ready to torch this place.
Her eyes are colder than the Bering Sea, and she’s giving me a guarded glare. I wouldn’t be surprised if I went home with a case of frostbite on my balls. Her eyes travel to my crotch as if to imply she’d snip them off if given the chance.
She’s biding her time. War has been declared, but she has to pick her place to retaliate. She can’t undermine her father as it would bring a physical punishment, which would be carried out in front of me. I’m not one to hit a woman, but the old guard is different.
Alena is proud. She will exact her revenge when we are alone. I’m looking forward to the encounter. I’m a sick man. I played her like a fiddle. Now she knows I have her against the ropes.
I hope this doesn’t affect our sex life. I’m not immune to the fact that some objects might be hurled at my head.
Dinner continues painfully slow. It’s a meal served with undercurrents and back-handed innuendos.
“I take it you’re from Sicily?” Alena asks.
“Yes, my father recently passed. I’m taking over the family empire. I’m more than happy to have you at my side as my fiancée.”
“How long have you been here?”
“I’ve traveled here over the years to learn English and the customs here.” I eye her as my brows furrow slightly. It’s as if I’m asking how many questions she intends to ask.
“How is work, Alena?” Dad asks.
He’s trying to validate her recent accomplishment by feigning interest.
She wouldn’t have a job if it weren’t for me. It looks like this might be a thorn in my side. It sounds as if she likes her job. I imagine a woman who was raised to be cared for would have been happy with the arranged marriage she knew would be happening.
She’s of marriageable age and was raised to be cared for in exchange for a life of leisure. So why would she choose to work?
